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by error_era (orphan_account)



Series: 3AM Products of Procrastination [3]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Kindergarten & Pre-school, Gen, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Unrequited Love, laughing because that's an actual working tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-03
Updated: 2012-05-03
Packaged: 2017-11-18 12:40:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/561167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/error_era
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wesley Xavier wasn't good with people. It wasn't unusual for a boy his age, but it still posed a worry amongst adults how distanced he was from his classmates. The few friends that he had had eventually grew bored of his shy nature and went to play with the others. The teachers felt pity on the boy and often made an effort to encourage the other children to include him in their games, but to no avail.</p><p>Wesley was absolutely fine with that.</p><p>(Or in which Charles has a kid brother named Wesley who cares for little else besides his attention.)</p>
            </blockquote>





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Wesley Xavier wasn't good with people. It wasn't unusual for a boy his age, but it still posed a worry amongst adults how distanced he was from his classmates. The few friends that he had had eventually grew bored of his shy nature and went to play with the others. The teachers felt pity on the boy and often made an effort to encourage the other children to include him in their games, but to no avail.

Wesley was absolutely fine with that.

That was another thing that the teachers noticed. Most of them had grown out of their initial worry for him and left him be, as he clearly had an appreciation for his own company. The others still try to talk to him and ask to play games together, but Wesley would either quietly decline or, on rare occasions, snap his disapproval.

("How about you pick a book from the shelf and I'll read it to you?" one suggested, smiling in a way that she hoped was inviting. Wesley eyes narrowed, white-hot blue glaring at her intensely as if she had offended him in the worst way possible. Although startled by the reaction, she held her ground and watched him expectantly. Even if she already knew the answer.

"No, thank you." he bites out.)

The only time Wesley enjoyed himself was when he was in class, answering questions, drawing pictures, sitting for quizzes. All of the teachers would notice how he would brighten up if he had gotten (yet another) high mark on his quiz, and they had initially thought that the reason he was so distanced from the other children was that he was prideful, but the lack of boasting proved otherwise (on the contrary; he would often smile to himself and carefully hide it in his bag, making sure it was in between books so that it wouldn't crease or fold).

When he was out of school grounds, however, they didn't know. They didn't know if he acted this way at home, or if this was just who he was. If it was, it wasn't their place to try to change his ways if his parents don't express similar worry on the subject. In fact, their parents don't express anything at all. They hadn't stepped foot into the school since the day they enrolled the boy, signing the necessary papers and practically ignoring everything the teachers (and even the principal) were trying to explain about the school, of their care for the well-being of their children.

The only one who would ever show up was his brother.

The man looked shockingly similar to Wesley; the same brown curls, the same vivid blue eyes, the same paper-white, freckle-dusted skin. Charles Xavier, a genetics professor and one of the youngest (and brightest, if rumours were to be trusted) in his field. He was kind and attended almost every parent-teacher meeting, listening intently as the woman rattled on about Wesley's development, a smile tugging on his lips whenever they mentioned anything relatively positive about the boy. The school had listed him down officially for all emergency calls after one indirect question had caused him to laugh sheepishly and say "If my experience holds any weight, they won't come if you call."

The teachers also worried about the brothers' lives at home, what with Charles being a working man and their parents appearing completely uninterested. But the elder of the two would never fail to walk Wesley to the gates, kissing his forehead goodbye and making him promise to be a good boy before he waved him off, waiting at the gate until he went inside before he left for work. And he'd pick him up, too, when classes finished and the children rushed out like hordes of sheep. Always on time, and always bent down to expect the tackle he would receive from his younger brother, smiling as Wesley excitedly shoves a graded quiz or a drawing into his hands.

One day, another man accompanied him as they waited by the gate. Slightly taller, with a beautifully angled face that burst into laughter at what the professor had just gestured to animatedly, earning a pout in return. The man amended his apparent crime by slinging an arm around the other companionably, though the look they shared was anything but. Wesley stayed quiet, staring, and didn't rush out of the doors as he usually did. One of the teachers noticed and bent down to his level to ask him what was wrong. He continued to stay silent, his face twisting into something the woman couldn't even name.

"Mine."


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